Autumn Leaves
by shakeitsalome
Summary: A chance meeting. A night of delight. Something more? Cesaro/OC
1. One - I've Done This Before

One – _I've Done This Before_

Her body was still languid with post-orgasm bliss and her mind starting to fill with thoughts of sleep when he slipped out of the bed with a murmured excuse. Daring to move, she hissed at the tenderness that had taken over her body. She tried her best to return to limpness, a smile pulling from her lips as the bathroom door clicked shut. She literally ached from head to toe. She'd had a feeling that he would be an excellent and thorough lover, but she hadn't realized just how good he would be.

Sated, she stretched her arms above her head as she rolled onto her back. Her body protested the movement. Hadn't she put them through enough already? She had to stretch, though, or face more soreness after sleeping. It was so late she knew she wouldn't get more than a few hours of sleep before her alarm started to blare. Or was it early? The lines of late and early blurred for her when the clock began showing three and four. She was used to being up at that time, anyway.

Not because of the activity she'd just indulged in, though. This night was an anomaly.

A wonderful, beautiful anomaly that she would hold onto for the rest of her born days.

 _Melodramatic much_? she thought with a derisive snort. _You've had your head in books too much._

She shifted, wriggling her left leg to free it of the tangled sheet and, unencumbered, she slid to the edge of the bed, gingerly stretching her toes to find the floor. Once she was sitting upright, she hissed again, body radiating pain from being twisted and extended beyond its usual threshold. She needed a hot shower.

Her gaze landed on her discarded clothes, artlessly heaped where she'd thrown them earlier. The expensive silk top, a splurge when shopping that morning, was now crumpled beneath her favorite jeans. She bit her lip, thinking of how long it would take to steam the inevitable wrinkles from the delicate cream-colored fabric. She glanced to her shoes, then to the bra and panties lying closer to the bed. Neither of her items would be comfortable to sleep in. She supposed she could sleep naked, but…

The muffled buzz of running water pulled her from her thoughts of slumber. It brought with it reality, which crashed down on her, dashing away the dreaminess of her post-coital state. Of course.

 _Idiot_ , she thought. Standing, she ignored the soreness in her thighs and gathered her clothing.

How could she think that he'd want her to stay the night? He'd gotten what he wanted, she supposed. For all intents and purposes he was done with her. Oh, he probably had some considerate spiel to give as he escorted her to the door. He did have a few gentlemanly qualities. But invite her to stay until morning? Preposterous. After all, he was leaving first thing. He'd mentioned that downstairs. Something about his career involving a lot of travel.

Hurriedly, as quietly as possible, she got dressed. She thought of scribbling a quick note of thanks, deciding against it while taking her purse from the top of the dresser. She cringed when it dragged several coins along with it, their gentle thuds on the carpet sounding to her like booms from a cannon. Stepping into her black ballet flats, she was aware of the water still running as she scanned the room for her sweater.

It was draped over the back of the armchair tucked in the corner. He'd done it; she recalled the whisper of his lips against her ear when he'd slipped the bulky garment from her shoulders. Drawing in a deep breath, she yanked the sweater from the chair. It caught on something – the button of his jacket. Yanking harder, she freed it and was at the door in seconds. The creases in her top were evidence that she was doing a late-night walk of shame, but there was nothing she could do about it, and she only had to go to another floor of the hotel.

Eyes moving to the bathroom door, she sent up a prayer of thanks for the marvelous time. She eased the door open just as the water shut off. Her heart jumped into her throat and, fearing his rehearsed speech, she left. There was conclusiveness in the way the door shut behind her.

Down the corridor, around the corner. There was no waiting for the elevator. Once inside, her floor selected, she slumped against the wall with a sigh.

 _She followed the firm guidance of the hand at the small of her back. Drawn closer to him than before, she grasped the front of his shirt, heart pounding. Her breath caught in her throat when he brought his fingers to her chin. The closeness of his body, the warmth of a few drinks, and the gentleness of his touch worked together, pushing her usual inhibitions aside. Further emboldened by the sound of his ragged sigh, she lifted her chin and met his gaze._

 _Her stomach did a funny little twist and her eyes closed briefly as his fingers moved to push a lock of hair from her cheek. Still, her nerve didn't waver. She had promised herself that she would seize every opportunity on this short trip. And by God, was he an opportunity. Dance forgotten, she eased her grip on his shirt._

 _Pure muscle, she marveled, vaguely aware of his hand returning to her back. She wanted to see him shirtless. Scratch that, she wanted to see him naked. No matter how inadequate doing so would make her feel. For the first time in too long she was attracted to a man she actually had a fraction of a chance with. And for the first time ever, she did more than hope and wish and daydream. She made the first move._

 _"Would you like to go upstairs?"_

 _His lips curved into a smile. The hand on her back slid lower, then cupped her hip. The gentle squeeze he gave, coupled with the heat that darkened his eyes, was enough to take her breath away._

Stupid, really, how easily she had fallen. Her self-imposed moral code had gone out the window. She hadn't even feigned disinterest. Nor had she rebuffed him. Not that she'd had a chance to, considering she had been the one doing the offering and suggesting. Hell, she'd outright asked. And in such a way that left no room for him to think she meant anything other than sex.

Her room was dark; in the furor of arriving and changing, she'd turned off the light without thinking. She felt her way through the room, switched on the lamp, and sank down on the edge of her bed. Sleep beckoned, but one glance around her and she knew that rest would be postponed.

Clothes spilled out of her suitcase. Some were on the bed, some on the floor. Her brown leather satchel was open, the papers she'd stuffed inside earlier peeking out. It would be so easy to crawl under the covers and forget it all. Straightening out the arm that held her sweater, prepared to toss it aside until morning, she froze upon seeing blankness.

The hand-knit cardigan was a deep emerald green. Made by her grandmother, it matched very little of her wardrobe. Despite that, she wore it often. Many a long night had been whiled away with the beloved garment keeping her warm. It was an object of comfort, much like her favorite blanket had been so many years ago.

Something was missing, though.

"No," she whispered, trying her best to recall when she'd last seen the piece of jewelry that had been fastened to the front of the sweater. She only removed it when washing the sweater. Almost a week now. She was certain she'd seen it when going through security at the airport. She began squeezing the sweater with the hope that the small pin was caught inside.

Thirty minutes of fruitless searching later, her belongings scattered everywhere, she plopped down on the bed. She wrapped the sweater around her shoulders. She hoped against hope that the pin would miraculously appear in the morning.

* * *

"It's a what?"

"A mourning pin, I believe." He smoothed his thumb over the jet-black stone set the middle of the small, square pin. He made sure to avoid touching the tiny braid of hair that bordered the stone.

"How the hell did you get one of those?" Seth asked, plucking it out of his hand so he could hold it up for close scrutiny. "Is that a dead person's hair?"

"I think so. And considering black is the traditional color of mourning…" He gave a light shrug, eyes on the little brooch he'd found that morning. "At one time it was common for those in mourning to commission jewelry in memory of a dead loved one."

"This is fucking macabre. Guy's been rotting in his grave for probably two hundred years and we're holding his hair." Seth looked almost gleeful. "Where'd you get it?"

"Would you believe me if I said I found it?" He took the brooch back, fearful his friend would lose it. Or damage it in some way. Or perhaps slip it into his pocket to keep for himself.

"You got it from that girl you had last night, didn't you?"

"Not exactly." After tucking the brooch into the inside pocket of his jacket, he picked up his coffee and followed Seth outside.

"You stole it?"

"I'm not Ambrose," he scorned, grinning when he recalled their coworker's tale of making off with a new iPod. Despite the shining sun there was a chill in the air and he reached to pull his cap down over his ears while crossing the parking lot to their rental.

Seth waited until they were in the car before speaking again. "How was she, by the way? From what I saw of her she was… Well, she looked boring, man."

"It was enjoyable. That's all you need to know," he added before he could be plagued with more questions.

"Tony, man, you're one of my best friends, but sometimes your moral code is a fucking bitch."

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell." Antonio wrinkled his nose. "And stop calling me Tony."

"A _gentleman_ doesn't skimp on details to his best pal, either."

"I'm sorry that your own sex life is a barren wasteland, _pal_ , but I will not give you more specifics about my private oasis."

"Asshole," Seth muttered, reaching for his coffee, eyes on the stoplight. "So I'm guessing she was good?"

"You could say that," Antonio murmured, gazing at the flickering blue lights of a police car as it sped through the intersection.

Luckily for him, Seth got distracted by putting on music. The volume made it impossible to talk, so Antonio settled in for the short drive to the next city.

And continued to wonder why she'd left in such a hurry.

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, a new story. Sorry not sorry. :)**


	2. Two - Strangers in the Night

Two – _Strangers in the Night_

 _The first time he saw her, he didn't even notice. She blended in and it wasn't until the lights caught her glass as she lifted it that he took notice of her. Even then, he felt she blended in with the surroundings. A nondescript person in nondescript clothes drinking a nondescript drink._

 _She was alone, and he saw her watching everything. The bartender, the people dancing, those seated at tables, those at the bar. It struck him as odd, for in his experience one went to a bar to enjoy oneself, not to watch others enjoying life._

 _And yet, he watched her watch everyone else._

 _It was pity, he supposed, that made him send a drink over to her. Nothing fancy – another glass of red wine. He wasn't sure why he made the overture but he kept his gaze on her until the new drink was brought over, and couldn't look away when she turned her inquisitive eyes on him._

"What was her name?"

Pulled from his memories, Antonio blinked. "Whose name?" he asked. But a quick glance in Seth's direction and he knew exactly who his friend was talking about. "Elaine."

"Old-fashioned." Seth had turned down the music.

"Yes, but it suits her." He pictured her in the hotel bar, with her hair pulled back. No makeup. That hideous sweater on her shoulders. He couldn't remember jewelry, aside from the brooch. Her legs had been crossed, her elbows close to her sides, one hand resting in her lap. "When I went over…"

"What?" Seth pressed after a moment.

"I wasn't thinking about getting her in bed. She looked lonely."

 _"May I?"_

 _Her hand shook slightly as she motioned to the empty chair._

 _He sat, saw the surprise on her face. Her cheeks darkened and she looked down._

 _"Oh." She looked around, gaze lingering on the door. Was she planning her escape? Then she peered at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Thanks for the drink."_

 _"You're welcome." He took a sip of the drink he'd brought with him, then swirled the liquor in the glass. "I'm Antonio."_

 _Her lips moved. When they puckered slightly he realized she was mouthing his name. "Elaine."_

 _"I've never met an Elaine before. And in case you've never met an Antonio, I have to warn you. We're all corny, and very unoriginal."_

 _"Really? Every Antonio in the world?" Her smile was brighter now._

 _"Every one of us," he promised. "I'll prove it by asking the oldest opening line in the book." Leaning forward slightly, he lowered his voice to a confidential tone. "Do you come here often?"_

"Dude. I get that it was probably the first time you've gotten laid in…months…but c'mon," Seth laughed, once again dragging Antonio from his recollection. "You'll never see her again. Or did you get her number for the next time we're in town?"

"No." His tone was bitter. _He_ was bitter about that annoying fact. "She left before I could take care of that little detail."

"Holy shit," Seth breathed, stretching first one arm then the other above his head. "She ditched?"

Groaning, for the last thing he wanted to talk about was his obvious lack of finesse, Antonio looked out the window at the passing landscape. "I left the room for a minute and when I got back she was gone."

"Ouch."

"I wouldn't have minded, but…" Antonio shrugged. He wasn't sure if he should elaborate. He wasn't sure if he could, because he doubted there were any words proper to how he had felt upon finding his bed empty.

"But what?" Seth was tilting his head from one side to the next. "Alright if we stop for a piss break?"

"Sure." He stretched a little, the hours of sitting in the car starting to take a toll on him after a night of little sleep. "And… I can't explain it. It wasn't the usual thing. She wasn't tipsy from too many drinks and desperate to fuck a wrestler. We talked for a while."

"What's she do?" His friend asked. It wasn't a test question, to verify for himself that Antonio had indeed talked to the woman.

"She's a writer." That had been surprising, yet at the same time it hadn't. It had explained why she seemed to be watching everyone in the room. "Her newest novel came out recently, so she was on a little getaway to celebrate."

"Yeah? Cool." Seth appeared to be impressed. "What kind of stuff does she write?"

"I…" Antonio faltered, struggling to recall. He was sure that if she'd mentioned the genre he would remember. In fact, thinking of how she'd practically glowed while discussing her career, he wanted to buy and read the book. Surely someone so passionate about their creation would produce first-class content. "I don't know."

"Well it shouldn't be too hard to find out. Google her." Seth leaned forward while merging onto the exit ramp. "Did she tell you her last name?"

"No," Antonio sighed. He hadn't mentioned his, either. Despite the differences, their night had been like others. Secrets, expectations, fulfilments.

"Well there can't be that many writers named Elaine. Or, hell, that many people named Elaine. Except for the character on _Seinfeld_ , I've never heard of an Elaine." Seth braked at the stop sign, then followed the street to an intersection with an impressive array of gas stations.

"Elaine was also in Arthurian legend. _The Lady of Shalott_ ," Antonio elaborated.

"The what?" Seth chose the nearest station, a chain familiar to both of them after so many road trips.

"'And sometimes through the mirror blue / The knights come riding two and two: / She hath no loyal knight and true, / The Lady of Shalott," he quoted softly once the car was parked. "Tennyson?"

"Sorry, I'm a product of the American public school system," Seth reminded. "It's all I can do to remember that two plus two is three and dinosaurs became extinct because cavemen hunted them all."

"One of these days, my friend, I am going to force you to read good literature." Antonio climbed out and stretched. "Who knows? If you start discussing Arthurian legend you might get lucky."

"Arthurian… King Arthur, right? The Knights of the Round Table and all that?"

"There's hope for you yet," Antonio laughed.

"So this Elaine chick from Shalott, what was her deal? Did she hook up with a knight?" Seth locked the car and headed inside with Antonio, both men moving fast to escape the chill.

"She was cursed. She wasn't allowed to look at the real world, only at shadows in a mirror. One day she saw Lancelot ride by, and left her loom." They stepped inside, greeted by the aroma of greasy pizza, reheated hot dogs, and coffee. "She put herself in a boat to Camelot and died before she got there."

"Oh that's not depressing at all," Seth muttered. He motioned to the sign for the restrooms then clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm sure your Elaine won't kill herself over you."

* * *

Although she had only been gone for three days, she noted many changes as soon as she got home.

First, the leaves on the trees around her small house were starting to change. When she'd left they'd still been a vibrant green, but now traces of yellow were creeping in. All too soon the leaves would be a riot of color covering her lawn, and then gone until spring came around.

Second, her neighbor had mowed her lawn as he'd said he would. He'd even swept the grass clippings from the steps and slatestone walk. He'd also collected her mail. She would go over later to get it, she told herself, thinking he would enjoy one of the jars of apple preserves she'd purchased at the farmer's market before coming home.

Third, her cat was miffed at her. She entered the house, calling to him, but he didn't come to her as he always did. When she found him upstairs in the bedroom, sitting on the windowsill, she crossed to pet him, only to grasp air as he hopped down and stalked away.

"Horace," she sighed, following him down to the kitchen. His water bowl wasn't empty but his food dish was. The pudgy ginger released a plaintive meow when he sat down in front of it. He didn't even look at her, doing his utmost to make her feel guilty. Knowing that the quickest route to forgiveness was a hearty meal, she opened a can of his favorite food and left him to eat in peace while she unpacked.

After three days and two nights in the busy city, her home seemed smaller. Quieter. And yet, once she'd started a load of laundry, put away the rest of her things, and sank onto the couch, she felt the tension ease from her body. As much as she enjoyed the occasional trips, she was always grateful when she got home.

Home, to her quiet little town, where everyone knew her. To her little house, just big enough for one plus a cat, with the neighbors close enough to walk to but distant enough to not be a bother.

The phone began to ring just when she'd decided that it was time to head to the neighbor's for her mail. Thinking of her cell phone, which had died right in the middle of a difficult level of Angry Birds while she was on the plane, she pushed off the couch and headed for the spare bedroom. She'd converted it into an office shortly after the publication of her first book. Though she rarely used it for writing, it came in handy for the business end of her work.

Plucking the receiver off the base, she sank into her computer chair. "Hello?"

"Elaine! I finally caught you! Where have you been?"

She smiled at the sound of her agent's voice. Tamara had been her biggest fan and cheerleader for the past two years. She had become more friend than agent, their business dealings seemingly an afterthought nine times out of ten. "I told you I was taking a little vacation, Tam."

"Yes, but you didn't say you were going to ignore calls and texts and emails."

"It was just three days. I survived." Elaine could picture Tamara, crisp and businesslike in one of her many designer suits, rolling her eyes at the thought of turning off technology for a few days.

"Elaine, sweetie, it's the twenty-first century, you can't do that nowadays. I know your characters can, but they're stuck in the Dark Ages before good things like indoor plumbing and tampons came along. Now," she said, her tone reverting to the one she reserved for business meetings and contract negotiations, "I've got some good news for you."

"Oh?" What could be better than the news she'd received the week before? A new release debuting on a national paper's bestseller list was probably the best news Elaine could have received.

"Elaine, darling, you've moved up in the world. Your recent contract is still all the buzz in the historical romance world. The book is moving up on the bestseller list. You're practically a shoe-in for the next RITA, and Captain Hewlett is on every blog's top-ten-hottest-heroes list that's out there. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he made the move from page to screen within the next year or two."

Grinning like a fool, Elaine still rolled her eyes at the last statement. Tamara had said the same thing about every book she'd written. But that was what cheerleaders were supposed to do, wasn't it? "It's all thanks to you, Tam—"

"Bullshit. I do my damned best for all my clients, but if they present me with crap there's nothing I can do. Like Mama always said: If you polish a turd, it's still a turd. Hang on, El…" Tamara murmured to someone, probably her harried assistant, then came back with alacrity. "Right, where was I? Oh, the big news! You, my dear, are going on a media tour!"

"I am?"

"Of course you are."

"But—"

"I've made all the arrangements already. It's nothing major. Two weeks of your time, and there are plenty of days off to dash home and feed that fat cat of yours. I'm faxing you the itinerary now. Quite a few appearances are in your state for local stations. A few book podcasts, an interview for GMA's new web series on writers…"

Her fax machine came to life and began to churn out the first page. "Tam—"

"I've also got you lined up for some interviews. The publisher is covering all of your travel costs, all you have to do is pack. I'm sending Kim to keep you straight."

The fax machine was on its third page now, and the tiny screen indicated there were several more to go. "Tamara…"

"Oh, I've got a meeting in five minutes and I just broke a nail!" Tamara cursed under her breath. "Gotta run, sweetie. Follow Kim's pointers, but be yourself. I'll check in with you in a few days!"

The usual ending – lips smacking in a kiss – and the line went dead.

Groaning, Elaine replaced the receiver and began pulling pages off the fax machine. As she sorted them into order, Horace entered the office with a yowl. Seconds later his large head was bumping against her ankles. A feline signal that she was forgiven and he still loved her. Sitting back, she clicked her tongue, sighing when he jumped into her lap and began to knead her stomach, which was already beginning to knot with anxiety.

She had become a writer for two reasons. One: writing was her life's blood. Creating a symphony of words on paper was euphoric to her. The fact that others enjoyed her writings enough that she could do it for a living was just the cherry on the top.

Two: Being a writer meant that, if she wanted, she could hide away from the world for sometimes months on end. Her stress levels when dealing with new people were sometimes off the charts. Up until now she'd been allowed the luxury of doing the bulk of interviews via email. Or, at the worst, over the phone. But it was easy to be at ease over the phone, when she could curl up on the couch in her pajamas and watch her favorite movie with closed captioning.

It had taken her three glasses of wine before she'd felt comfortable enough to just talk to _him_. Then two more before she'd drummed up the courage to dance. Which in turn had made her heady enough to suggest…

God only knew how much liquor it would take before she'd be comfortable enough to go on television.


	3. Three - One Step Closer

Three – _One Step Closer_

Over the years, Antonio had become adept at sleeping anywhere. He had his preferences for places to sleep, but in a pinch he could catch rest in nearly any situation. If the right amount of quiet was reached, he could close his eyes and seize the proverbial forty winks. Or more, if the occasion allowed.

He found an opportunity to get a quick nap in before the chaos of Raw. Backstage, just beyond catering, was a little room being used for storage. It was relatively quiet all around, with most talent either eating a late lunch, filming promos, or prepping themselves for meet-and-greets. There were forty minutes before he had to be anywhere, so Antonio slipped into the room, left the door ajar, and breathed a small sigh of relief.

He had just leaned back against stacked boxes of paper napkins when the door slammed open. Cursing because he was startled, he lurched, nearly toppling the boxes. He caught himself and, after steadying the boxes behind him, glared at the intruder.

Seth didn't seem to care that he'd almost created a mess. "What did you say that chick's name was? Elaine, right?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, Antonio nodded. He didn't like his friend referring to her as ' _that chick_ ' but the man was notoriously bad at names. The fact he remembered Elaine was a miracle in itself. "Yes."

"I'm guessing you still haven't found her."

To be honest, he hadn't really looked. If asked he could provide a million excuses – work, gym, constant travel. None of them would hold up under questioning, though, and he prayed Seth wouldn't interrogate. He loathed the idea of admitting that he wasn't looking because he was afraid of what he would find. She might have a husband. Children. She might be notorious in her area for sleeping with any man that looked her way. Over the past ten days he had created an idealized image of her. It would be best if she stayed that way, wouldn't it?

"I didn't know where to begin," he hedged, growing wary when Seth began to grin. "Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?"

"You so fucking owe me. I deserve a lifetime of paybacks for this. I'm talking major—"

"Why do I owe you anything?"

Surprisingly, Seth handed over a newspaper. Usually there was always an elaborate story. After all, life was never simple when it came to the current champion. This time, though, he made no opening statement, instead leaning against the boxes that had come close to falling to the floor. "Check that out."

It was one of the national papers. Technically, it was just a section of the paper. Antonio bought it occasionally so he was familiar with the name. Glancing at the date, he saw it was a couple days old. "What, exactly, am I checking out?"

"Just give it a good look. I'll wait." Seth was still grinning.

Using a nearby box as a table, Antonio opened the section fully, staring at the page for a long moment. A book ad at the bottom. An article on new TV series that showed promise. A bar of celebrity gossip. Shooting his friend a look of disdain, he turned the page.

"Keep going." The man's voice was practically sing-song now. "Page four."

Antonio turned the page again, breath leaving him in a rush. "It's her."

"Damn right it's her," Seth whispered. "Elaine Price. Now look at the little box under her picture."

He did so, though he was almost itching to read the article. It took up most of the page, and had a couple more pictures. But all thoughts of the article left him as he stared at the list of dates.

"God bless the editor for letting her appearance schedule stay in, huh?" Seth's grin had gotten wider. "So you know where she'll be. And when. So you can show up like Lancelot and shatter her mirror or what-the-fuck-ever. It's fate. Sweep her off her feet, carry her off into the sunset, then make a castle full of beautiful kids."

Antonio snorted and pulled his gaze from the paper. "What?"

"I was forced to watch princess movies with Roman's kid last night," Seth muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

"That's sweet. I didn't know you liked princess movies."

"I don't." It was half-growl, half-grumble, and Seth's face was twisted into a look of pure disgust. "But that's not the point. C'mon, you'll be in the same city as her twice next week. And thanks to this you know where she's going to be. All you have to do is sweet-talk the higher-ups so they send you out for media on those days."

"I'm not sure—"

"Hell, if nothing else, at least now you can email her. You need to give her that pin thing, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"I'll do some sweet-talking too. I got a favor or two owed to me. This is worth it." Seth stepped away from the box he was leaning against.

"Why?"

"Dude, you've been mooning over this woman for almost two weeks. Hopefully this will help. It better help," he amended.

That was a fear, too. What if they met again and it only strengthened his thoughts of her? Perhaps the fear was ridiculous, but it stayed in the back of his mind. Along with the worry that she wouldn't be interested in seeing him again. After all, she had left.

The pin, though, she would want the pin. He thought of it, tucked securely in his suitcase. It was no doubt some family heirloom; it was certainly well-loved. Had it not been for the loose clasp that he'd discovered, the pin would no doubt still be attached to her hideous sweater.

"Tony?"

Antonio snatched up the paper and folded it for easy reading. "Call in your favors, Seth. I apparently have some stalking to plan."

Seth's face split into a wide grin. "I have never seen you so hung up on a chick. What's so different about this one?"

He paused, eyes on the black and white photo of Elaine. Something, he thought, was missing. The photo was rather bland, like so many author photos on the backs of so many books. "I don't know," he finally answered. Meeting his friend's questioning gaze, he smiled. "When I figure it out, I'll tell you."

* * *

Kim was efficient. Annoyingly so, Elaine thought as they entered the large building that housed the television station. The recent graduate had been up before dawn, making coffee and typing away on her laptop. Elaine had stayed in bed as long as she could, but the smell of coffee had lured her into consciousness. She had barely taken two sips when Kim had launched into her schedule for the day while selecting two possible outfits for the interview, her phone in hand the entire time so she could text.

Elaine shivered, longing for her sweater, which Kim had snatched off her and crammed into her voluminous bag for safekeeping. It wasn't good enough for Kim, though, not even to wear to the station. She had an image to uphold, and that image had no room for comfort. It apparently didn't matter that less than five people saw them on their way to the station.

Two young women were waiting just inside, both with clipboards and cell phones in hand.

"Ms. Price?" The one on the left stepped forward, smiling.

"Yes."

"I'm Amber, and I'll be making sure you get to where you need to go this morning." She motioned to the elevator across the way. "This way, please."

"I'll see you in a bit, Amb. Hopefully this wrestler guy gets here soon. Isn't he on right after her?"

"Ms. Price is at seven fifteen, then the weather. Then the wrestler," Amber called over her shoulder. "Kate, if he's not here in five, call their PR."

Elaine found Amber to be just as annoyingly efficient as Kim, if not more so. Before she could come up with a comment on the weather she was on the elevator and the young woman was rattling off instructions about the interview. How long she would have, cues to keep an eye out for in case they had to cut her off early. She hoped Kim caught it all because it was mind-boggling that anyone could be so wide-awake and capable so early in the morning.

She was led around the set, where the anchors were chatting while commercials were aired. Amber pointed out a small corner where two high stools were set up, telling her that was where her interview would take place. Spying the camera, Elaine felt the first bubbles of anxiety begin to twist in her chest.

She was introduced to a handful of people while on her way to get her makeup done, and was rather tickled when one of the interns sheepishly asked if she could sign the copies she had of Elaine's books. Thinking of the books in Kim's bag, which the station had requested for a giveaway, she wondered if anyone but the intern would be interested.

Two weeks on bestseller lists and she still had trouble believing people read her stories. She wondered if the novelty would wear off. She wondered if she would grow jaded or ever get annoyed when someone asked her to sign a book or wanted to talk about a particular character.

Glancing to the blushing intern holding well-loved copies of her books, she decided she never would get over the wonder of meeting someone who appreciated her work.

"The wrestling guy's here. Where do you want him?"

"Put him in the green room." Amber was holding Elaine's hair up for the makeup artist.

"Will do as soon as Kate brings him back from getting coffee. Wait 'til you meet him, Amber. He's dreamy."

"Yeah?" Amber grinned.

"European. I swear to God he looks like he just stepped out of some menswear catalogue. And he's such a gentleman. I thought he was going to kiss my hand when he was introduced."

Elaine could see the woman in the mirror and bit back a grin when she practically swooned in the doorway. Then, thinking of another dreamy, gentlemanly European, she felt herself grow warm. He _had_ kissed her hand. Of course, she'd been naked at the time. And he'd been helping her off her knees…

"Lord, honey, is it too hot in here?" the makeup artist asked, makeup brush hovering over Elaine's cheek.

"Nerves," she murmured, clearing her throat.

"Ooh, Amber, here he comes," the woman in the doorway called softly.

Elaine looked on through the mirror as Amber, efficient and crisp, nearly bolted across to get a look at the dreamy wrestler. While the artist concealed her dark circles and put some color on her lips, she heard the two women at the door discuss how well-cut the man's slacks and shirt were. Apparently the man was an Adonis. Uninterested, Elaine dropped her gaze and began signing the intern's books.

Then, as soon as the excitement had happened, it was over and annoyingly efficient Amber returned with the announcement that Elaine had ten minutes before going on.

Sharpie in hand, she accidentally drew a line under her signature. Surely not so soon? She inwardly fretted, scribbling her name quickly in each of the books. Kim handed over a few bookmarks, which Elaine tucked into the topmost book before handing them over to the intern with a smile.

"Done," the makeup artist announced, giving the loose topknot she'd created a gentle pat.

Elaine slipped from the chair and, suddenly chilled, took advantage of Kim being distracted by her phone. The comfort of her grandmother's sweater within her reach, she pulled it from Kim's bag and slipped it on. Just as she was fastening the last big brown button Amber approached.

"I'm going to take you to meet Amy, who'll be talking with you, and we'll get you micced up."

* * *

 _Have you seen her yet?_

 _She's coming on after commercial. You still haven't seen her?_

 _No._ Antonio tapped out the succinct answer and sent it to Seth, who had been messaging him what felt like every five seconds. The man was anxious for updates. As though he expected some fairytale-like meeting that segued to riding off into the sunset.

He'd barely had time to breathe since getting up for his rounds of media. Two radio interviews, one phone-in interview, and a delayed appearance at another station later, he was looking forward to getting to the arena and having some downtime. Even now, alone in the greenroom – which wasn't green; it was gray – he was being kept busy. After getting coffee with the perky young woman that had met him in the lobby, he had been handed a stack of promotional photos to sign.

The door opened and the young woman from earlier – Kate – stepped in, clutching a pile of books. "They'll be ready for you in makeup in just a couple minutes," she announced, tossing several books onto the small table near the door. Before he could reply she was gone.

His phone buzzed next to the stack of finished photos. Antonio ignored it, looking instead to the TV on the opposite wall. An ad for a local restaurant was on.

Liz, whom he'd jokingly referred to as his handler for the day, rose from her seat and turned down the TV. She was a no-nonsense woman of ambiguous age, and the reason he had been running late. And even though he was practically certain he was older than her, she had the ability of making him feel like a small child.

Despite this, he cleared his throat and requested she leave the volume up. He was finished signing, and was standing up before she could thrust more busywork at him. Grabbing his phone and coffee, he walked the length of the narrow room, nonchalantly picking up one of the books that Kate had dumped on the table.

 _Lady Maybe_. The title was in a simple script, placed over a background that depicted a large manor house tucked amid rolling hills. There was a couple in the forefront. Unlike what he had expected, there was no passionate embrace. It looked nothing like the romance novels his mother read so voraciously. Gaze dipping, he saw a notation beneath the title: _The 4_ _th_ _installment in the fascinating Montgomery family_! Then her name, just a bit larger than the title, followed by a line touting her as the award winning author of _Pennwood Park_.

He had just opened the cover when the anchor's voice broke the silence in the room. Antonio held onto the book while the man onscreen told of a local woman making waves. The camera cut to her and he smiled. She looked nervous. Whether it was the lighting or makeup, or perhaps the ghastly sweater, she also looked pale. He barely heard the woman sitting with her speak, focusing instead on a slight fray in the sweater.

The pin weighed heavily in his pocket.

Sipping his coffee, he moved closer to the TV, noting out the corner of his eye that Liz was watching as well.

"Why romance? Personally, I'm a glutton when it comes to a good romance, but it does seem that the recent trends are going in other directions. So, why romance?"

There was a slight shift in her expression. "The simple answer is: happy endings. They're all I can do. I know that a writer can get more respect, at least in the writing world, when you don't have a happy ending. But I look at my books as a little escape from what can be a depressing real world. And romance is a great escape. I read a lot, too, and I like to be reminded that good things can happen. I suppose readers of romance – not just historical, but all romance – agree with me in a way, because the industry is always booming."

"As a writer of romance, do you worry that one day it won't thrive?"

"Not at all. Trends come and go, but romance has remained for centuries now. And I enjoy the trends, too. As much as I love a good romance, I still adore all genres. I think the focus should be more on keeping people reading, as opposed to quibbling over whether they're reading romance or mystery or whatever."

Watching her, he was reminded of their chat in the hotel bar. She truly transformed when discussing her craft. The paleness was gone, replaced by a glow that almost took his breath away. The nervousness that he'd seen earlier had melted away. He felt a little proud of her, for now she was smiling and chatting with the woman as though they were old friends.

"Time for makeup," Kate announced without preamble from the doorway.

Without thinking, he slipped the book into the pocket of his jacket and followed her from the room. Surely they had a monitor for him to watch the rest of the interview. Then he would do his own, and catch up with Elaine.


End file.
